


Winter Winds

by Signe_chan



Category: Glee
Genre: Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-05
Updated: 2010-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signe_chan/pseuds/Signe_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dalton was supposed to make things better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Winds

Dalton was supposed to make things better. Ok, maybe his expectations had been a little less then realistic, but Kurt couldn't help but dream. A place with a zero tolerance bullying approach that enforced it, that had to be awesome. And when he'd been there before, the way people treat each other. The way the Warblers were looked up to. Blaine. It was like some kind of heaven.

Of course, as always, he was wrong.

He'd believed that when he put on the right blazer and walked through those gates his life would be complete. His head was spinning with songs about finally coming home on the drive there. He'd felt like, finally, things could be right.

The truth was, Kurt was a bit of a control freak. It came from his dad not being one at all, probably. His dad loved him, he knew that, but Burt had never been the organised one in any situation. From a young age that job had been Kurt's. As soon as Kurt was old enough he'd done the paperwork and books for the garage. He organised their house so it didn't look like a bomb site. He arranged and booked their holidays. And he looked damn fabulous while doing it.

The cleaning was a big thing. It had always been his main responsibility in the house, so he was a little neurotic about it, he knew that. But, everything had to be put away and clean. When he was stressed he reorganised and dusted and shined surfaces until he calmed down, and when the house was messy, he had to sort it out. It wasn't even a choice any more, he had to.

Dalton rooms were all twin rooms. There was only one opening, and when Kurt walked into the room to meet his new room mate he thought he was going to have a heart attack. The place was...messy. So messy. Things piled on every surface. And, ok, he wasn't Miss Pilsbury or anything but that couldn't be hygienic!

His room mate was a senior called Scott. His interests in life included nude women and hockey. He didn't bully Kurt, but when Kurt offered to help him tidy his half of the room he made it very clear that Kurt was NOT to touch his stuff. Further, nothing against Kurt but he'd liked having his OWN room, so if Kurt could do his best not to take up too much space...

It was reasonable, he thought. It had been Scott's room after all, and frankly he had no desire to spend any more time in that pit of filth then was necessary, but it did mean that not only could he not clean to calm himself down, he couldn't control the place around him.

That hurt.

His looks were another big issue. Kurt was an individual to say the least. He'd always been meticulous about his looks. The face you present to the world is important and he wanted to make sure his was perfect. He hadn't realised Dalton would be so restrictive. He knew about the inform of course, what he hadn't known was that there was no wriggle room. When he arrived at the school he was given a little over a week's supply of trousers and shirts. Twice a week the laundry lady came down and threw them all into a hamper and took them away, and once a week he could go to the laundry room and claim clothes in his size.

They weren't his clothes though.

His skin crawled to think of who might have worn these clothes before him and what they might have done in them. He'd refused to wear them when he'd first heard about the system, almost panicking, but his dad had talked him down and he'd given in. He wore someone else’s clothes.

He could have coped if it wasn't for the other thing. He hadn't realised was how compulsory the uniform was. He had to wear it all the time. If he was seen without it by a fellow Dalton student he could be disciplined. The weekend and evening clothes he'd brought with him went back home with his dad and instead he found himself spending his every moment in someone else’s vaguely uncomfortable clothes. It wasn't him, he didn't dress like this.

He'd never felt so out of control.

Sure, nobody here called him names and shoved him into lockers, but he couldn't really be himself here. But, his Dad and Carole had spent their honeymoon money for him to be here and tuition was non-refundable if he dropped out.

Instead he made a list of things he could control. He couldn't dress but he could make sure his hair was complexion were flawless. He could control where and how he used the communal bathrooms. He could control how he ate.

For a while he'd put the Warblers as something he could control. Then he'd not got the solo, and he realised he couldn't control it. In New Directions, to a degree, he knew how the game was played. He knew what to do to be noticed, even if Rachel did normally throw a fit if anyone else tried for attention. He knew how the game worked. Here, he didn't. He didn't understand anything. He got blending in as a theory, it had just never been something he'd been able to do.

He hadn't come here so he could become just another boy in a blazer.

So he couldn't control how he did in the Warblers, so all of the need to control that he focused into the bird they gave him.

He didn't like the bird. He wasn't an animal person, they didn't go with his cleanness ethic. He liked things clean and ordered, and birds were not. It made noises at strange times and it just went right there on the floor and it didn't listen to what he said, of course.

Of, focusing all his anxiety about the warblers onto the bird was probably not a good thing at the best of times. Everything about the bird started to take on huge significance. Was it eating enough, was it happy enough, did it look well enough?

When he called Blaine about the bird he hadn't known what to expect. He'd just...he'd felt ready to burst. He was wearing a shirt with a small stain on the back which the laundry room had refused to take back until he'd worn and every time he thought of it, it made him nauseous. The table in front of him needed polishing, who knew when the sofa cushions under him had last been aired. His hair wouldn't behave, he'd indulged in a chocolate bar after lunch though he wasn't meant too and there was SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE DAMN BIRD!

He could feel the edge of panic in himself, feel how close he was, and somehow he'd expected Blaine to see this, expected Blaine to help.

“Oh he's just malting. He's growing a new coat of feathers so his body has to shut down a little. But don't worry about it, he's got food, water. Seems to like his cage. Just give it a little while, he'll be singing again in no time.”

And then he'd left, and somehow everything was worse. Blaine hadn't realised, he hadn't fixed things. He hadn't even tried. It wasn't about the stupid bird, it never had been, and sitting there all alone Kurt felt the last threat slipping from his hands.

Somehow he managed to stand and walk out of there calmly, leaving the bird on the table. He felt like the stain on his shirt was burning a hole into the middle of his back. He felt as though he was going to cry at any moment, or scream, or just collapse and he would not do that in these halls where anyone could see him. He felt like bits of him were dropping away and there was nothing he could do and he wasn't even sure that when all his shells were gone there would be anything left underneath them.

He went to the quietest bathroom on campus, stuck his fingers down his throat and threw up the chocolate bar. He didn't think, he just did it. He'd made himself sick after over-indulging before, not often as it ruined the teeth but...sometimes...

Then he broke.

He was surprised how sudden it was but he was crying. First quiet tears, but as soon as he realised they were there big, gut wrenching sobs. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything. It felt, it felt like being torn in half. It felt like a crack had shot through his last line of defence, like he was a fish who'd belly had been but open and all his guts were spilling out for the world to see. It felt like breaking and he couldn't stop it.

For a while all there was were the tears, and the hurting. He sat on the toilet seat, pulled his legs to him and sobbed. People came in and out of the bathroom and he tried to stay quiet but if they heard him they didn't say anything, and soon caring was too much effort.

Once the tears cleared enough that he could check his phone (over a hour of violent sobbing, and he was now late for warblers) he wrote a text to his dad. Daddy, I was to come home. Then he deleted it. He wouldn't do that to them. He wrote one to Mercedes, 'Cedes I need you. But she couldn't help, he deleted it. Then he cried again for a while. He felt, wrung out. He hadn't known he had these many tears in him. He knew he must look a mess but he still couldn't get them stopped. He felt, dry. Shrivelled up. His head hurt and his gut hurt and his everything just hurt and he wanted the entire world to stop for a few minutes just so he could get his bearings and work out how he'd got here.

In the end he texted Blaine, Sorry I missed Warblers, need some painkillers, can you get me some.

The reply took thirty minutes to come.

“Sorry Kurt, practice is running late. Go see the nurse.”

He almost laughed at the idea of walking through the halls like this, but he couldn’t manage it through the tears. What a sight he'd be,swollen face, tears streaming from his eyes, trying to hold himself together, tumbling through the halls to the nurse.

All the time, like a mantra in his head, I can't do this.

Somehow three hours passed. He managed to stop the tears, though he felt fragile, as if the slightest thing would get them started again and he wouldn't be able to stop them at all this time. He wanted his dad. He wanted his security and his control back, his shells. He wanted Blaine to care. He'd thought that, however hard Dalton was, Blaine would at least be there for him.

He moved from the toilet cubicle to the showers. They were in individual cubicles too, thank goodness. It still almost took more then Kurt had to take of his clothes. Someone else's stained shirt didn't make for a good shield but it was all he had...but he couldn't walk the halls looking like this. So eventually he peeled of the shirt and trousers and got as far as a shower stall.

The hot water was a little like a hug, and as soon as he thought that the tears came again. He thought about Carole's hugs, nothing like the hugs his mother had given him as a child but big and reassuring. He thought about the awkward but sincere hugs his dad gave him. He thought about Blaine, how he'd managed to come to need him so quickly, and how he wasn't even sure now if Blaine wanted HIM or some kind of small bird who's just shed the feathers of his own life and emerge in a Dalton blazer and learn to love singing on the back row.

He sat on the floor of the shower stall and cried for a while, until he hated himself. He couldn't be a son to his dad, he'd only mess up Carole's life and he'd never fit in here.

He managed to stop the thoughts by mentally working his way through Funny Girl. He'd seen the movie so many times he knew the dialogue, and by the end of “Sadie, Sadie, Married Lady” he felt able to get back out of the shower, put some clothes on and leave the bathroom.

It was late by now and the halls were deserted, but Kurt made him way to the top of the teaching building. One of the history professors never locked his room and at the back of the room was a tiny prep room with a table and chair that they all jokingly refereed to as the guy's home, as thought he had no life outside their classroom.

Kurt locked himself in there and found a pen and a piece of paper from the neatly organised shelves of history supplies. Just sitting in a place with so much order was making his feel better already.

Since he was already cut open he had a good poke, writing on one paper all the things about him that were wrong. He was too intense. He needed to be a star too much. He couldn't blend. He didn't know people's boundaries. He didn't look right (seriously, he hated how he looked when he smiled).

On the next paper he wrote who he needed to be. It didn't take him long to figure out that the person he needed to be was the person Blaine wanted him to be. Blaine was...Blaine was the only real thing in this school and he HAD to make their friendship work. He could NOT loose Blaine. He needed to be less demanding, less attention grabbing. He needed to be quiet and in the background and handsome and charming and then maybe...maybe Blaine wouldn’t hate him.

The third piece of paper was his action plan. He wrote a behaviour code. He would not draw attention to himself. He would not argue. He would not ask first, he would wait. He would not try for a solo again, he would learn to love the back row. He would not try to shine. He would be meek and giving and calm and it wouldn't matter that he didn't get to sing the lead because Blaine would be proud of him.

The back of the piece of paper was his eating plan. He couldn't control his wardrobe, but he could control his body. He could control what he put into it, the exercise he did with it and how he treated it.

When both lists were finished he folded that piece of paper and put it in his blazer pocket, the meticulously shredded the others to pot-pourri and dumped them in the history teacher's bin.

He still felt exposed, cut open with his guts peeking out for the world to see, and as thought any second a misplaced thought could send it all out again, but the list was a piece of rope, wound around him to hold him together. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.

~*~*~*~

“Hey, Kurt.”

“Hey,” Kurt smiled, but not too much, up and Blaine. Blaine slid onto the bench next him and and Kurt flipped his textbook shut, turning to face him.

“I'm sorry I couldn't be there last night,” the words were like a punch in the gut but Kurt kept his perfectly manufactured approved smile on his face and took the blow. “I hope it wasn't anything too bad?”

“No,” Kurt lied. “I just had a headache, that was all.”

“Sorry,” Blaine said, sheepishly. “We started work on a new song, it's going to be awesome. We'll fit you in next practice, I'm sure you can blend in with the harmonies we've got worked out.”

“That's great,” Kurt lied, “I'll do my best to blend in.” The pre-approved smile didn't slip and Blaine squeezed his leg.

“Hey, I've gotta go now, I have a class but...it feels like since you got here we've hardly seen each other.”

“That's ok,” Kurt lied, “I know you've got more important things to be doing then hanging out with me...”

“No, it's not ok,” Blaine said, squeezing Kurt's knee again. “What to go out for dinner tomorrow night?”

Uncontrolled calorie intake, potential fatty foods that would mess with his pores...but there would be a bathroom and he knew how to stick his fingers down his throat like everyone else. And Blaine.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said, forgetting to tone down his smile for a second. Blaine smiled back and squeezed hie leg again and Kurt felt like maybe he could do this.

~*~*~*~

The place Blaine picked was, actually, nice. A restaurant, really, though Kurt felt horribly under-dressed in his uniform, like always. Really, the thing might be acceptable in school but shouldn't be worn anywhere else.

Blaine picked him up from his room, though Kurt was careful not to let him see what an absolute mess it was inside. They walked into town though it was a little cold out, and Blaine opened the door for him when then reached the restaurant.

Kurt managed to get away with ordering a salad, and only eating half of it. He'd long ago mastered the art of moving food around his plate in such a way that it looked like he was eating when he wasn't.

And it was kind of like before he came to Dalton. Since he'd been here, Blaine had been kind of...not absent but busy. It was like when they didn't have to take special time to travel to see each other they just didn't find time for each other as much. They both had things to do, other friends, other priorities. Well, Blaine had other friends and other priorities. And Kurt hadn't expected to be top of Blaine's list of important people or anything, not really.

They talked out their number one favourite Broadway shows and what they wanted to do when they graduated high school and if the warblers had a realistic chance at regional and anything and everything. It was nice, calm. He felt, almost, as though things might be ok if it could be like this all the time. He felt, wanted. When Blaine smiled at him like that, reaching across the table to touch his arm, he felt like he might fit in here.

He refused desert, but Blaine forced him to try his chocolate mouse. Somehow it was worth the calories to eat a little of it from Blaine's spoon while the other boy smiled at him so encouragingly.

Blaine paid the bill, laughing it of, and Kurt didn't protest too much because he really shouldn't spend money if he didn't have to. His family couldn't give him much of an allowance since it cost so much to live there anyway.

By the time they were back on the street it was a lot colder and he found himself standing closer to Blaine for warmth. He was surprised when Blaine took his hand and it was only in that moment he realised it was a date.

And suddenly the vulnerability was back. The easy conversation had shielded him from it, somehow, but knowing this was a date, that he was being judged as a potential boyfriend, it made it all come flooding back. Suddenly he began to run thought everything in his head, everything he'd done and said that evening. Had he been too pushy? Had he smiled like an idiot or done anything else disgusting. Would Blaine still want him.

“Hey, you've gone quiet,” Blaine mumbled, squeezing his hand softly. “This...it's not too much, is it?”

“No, it's perfect,” Kurt said, and he wasn't lying really. It was everything he wanted, it wasn't Blaine's fault that Kurt just didn't deserve someone like him. That Kurt was so scared that any moment now Blaine would realise that.

When did he get so broken? He used to walk around like he owned wherever he was...but that was before. That was when he'd been learning to be himself, before he'd learnt that himself wasn't who people wanted him to be. And being someone else was a hell of a lot harder then being himself.

“I just, I know that things are tough now,” Blaine said, his voice oddly rushed as thought he wanted to get it out. “I don't want to be something else for you to worry about. But I want you to know I care, and I know I've done a bad job of showing it since you got here but...”

“Blaine, relax,” he said, pasting the approved smile on his face. “It's...it really is perfect. I mean, I...you're perfect.”

“I am definitely not,” Blaine said with an odd grin. They were out of town by now, on the road to Dalton, and Blaine brought then to a stop, turning Kurt to face him and catching both his hands. The street lamps were sparse out here and it was hard to make out Blaine's features.

“Kurt, can I kiss you?”

“Oh yes,” Kurt breathed, and then Blaine was kissing him.

It was obvious that Blaine wasn't as practice at this as Brittany, he used too much tongue too soon and it was wet and strange and he still tasted a little like chocolate mouse and none of that mattered a bit because Kurt was kissing a boy, being kissed by a boy. A boy he liked. Someone who wanted to hold his hand and had asked and someone who cared about him.

They laughed and chatted in low voices the rest of the way to the school, leaning together against the cold, and Blaine kissed him again in his doorway.

Kurt went to bed with a smile on his lips and an emptiness in his stomach that told him today had been a very good day.

~*~*~*~

Dating Blaine made things a little more manegable, in a way. Blaine was a busy guy so they had a schedule and that helped. On Tuesday they had lunch. Thursday was date night, just them leaving the grounds of the school and doing something together. Saturday evening was warblers social time, and they were officially a couple so they tended to spend time together then, and on Sunday morning they normally went for a walk together.

Having the routine was reassuring, but Kurt missed the spontaneousness of life. Some days he wanted Blaine to just say screw everything and for them to run away together. He had day dreams about it. But Blaine had the Warblers, and he had student council, and he had his homework that he was somewhat flexible out rearranging but Kurt didn't like to push. And there was soccer and rowing and he had other friends. Kurt couldn't have all his time, even if he wanted it.

Kurt...Kurt had the Warblers. He was learning to love the back row, he was. The sounds they produced as a team were awesome but, well, he kind of missed being a star. But he didn't, he couldn't.

He learnt to be quiet most of the time and stop bothering people. He didn't offer ideas in Warblers council any more, just sat next to Blaine and nodded and went along with what everyone else wanted.

He spent a lot of time studying. His Dad and Carole gave up a lot for him to be here so it was important that he didn't let them down.

He found it easier if he cut Mercedes out of his life. She'd been pissed when he'd stopped replying to her calls and e-mails, but she still expected him to be the old him. He...it wasn't that he didn't want to. But he couldn't be that person here. Not it he wanted to fit in. Not if he wanted to hand friends and sing...not that he got to have those things. But he had Blaine. That made up for it.

He couldn't clean or dress but he could control his body still. He took up running. It was, rhythmic and strangely therapeutic to just do something so physical for so long. Like he could switch of his brain and just run. It was good to have something to focus on, and it filled the hours when Blaine wasn't there.

Between that and his diet he was happy with how his body was changing. He'd always had puppy fat, always a little extra weight and not enough muscle, and not he was slim and lean. And it felt good to be able to control himself, to change himself. Even if everything around him was still spiralling.

Blaine seemed...satisfied. He didn't criticise him for standing out too much any more, though sometimes he'd ask Kurt if anything was wrong in a strange voice and it was weird because everything was wonderful. Everything about Blaine anyway.

When he'd transferred in people were curious about him, lots of people talked to him a lot. Now...now they seemed to have put him in this neat little boy labelled “Blaine's boyfriend” and it was like he wasn't even worth talking about any more. Blaine was the star of the Warblers, the goal keeper in the soccer team, the student council member, and Kurt was his boyfriend. And that was ok, really it was.

He'd never made friends easily. Mercedes had been the exception but, then, she'd been the one making friends with him. Blaine had been easy to befriend, but Blaine was perfect. The other guys here, not so much. It seemed he'd made a reputation when he got here, and they weren't sure about him. Nobody was nasty to him, of course, it wasn't like anyone threatened to kill him...but...

He wasn't happy.

He missed home, and he missed New Directions. Yes, they were ridiculous and riddled with drama and if he had to look at another Rachel Berry outfit he would scream, but he missed them. He missed...he missed people who encouraged him to be him. He got the feeling that, if his dad's heart attack happened again, it would just be him, Carole and Finn (and maybe Blaine) there. No interfering friends trying to push their help on him. And at the time he'd have said that was what he needed...but now...

But Blaine, Blaine was perfect. As long as he had Blaine, as long as he had some control over his body, then he could be ok.

He could.

~*~*~*~

“Kurt, can we talk?” Blaine asked, leaning forward slightly. Kurt stiffened. He'd seen that “I'm concerned” look on Blaine's face before and he very much got the impression he wasn’t going to like this conversation.

“Of course,” he said. Blaine looked at him for a second, then he glanced away.

“Kurt, is there anyone wrong? Anything you want to talk about?”

“No, I'm fine,” Kurt lied, shifting a little in his seat. Kurt looked down meaningfully at their meals and Kurt blushed. So, ok, maybe Kurt's plate hadn't really been eaten from and Blaine had finished his meal a while ago, but he thought he'd been sufficiently witty and charming for the other boy not to notice.

“It's not just...I mean, I noticed you aren't eating right...and I don't know why...but there are other things too. You don't really talk any more unless it's just me and you...and you don't smile like you used to...”

“I do,” said Kurt, flashing his favourite smile as if to prove it. Blaine frowned.

“Not...you used to smile so much when we first started hanging out, like you couldn't contain how happy you were. Now...now you never seem to really smile. I just...is there something wrong with me, Kurt?”

“No,” Kurt said quickly, reaching over to clutch Blaine's hand across the table. “Nothing wrong with you, never. You're...you're perfect. It's me, I'm not...I'm fine.”

“You're not fine,” Blaine said, his words slow and measured. He reach over the table and hold Kurt's hand to his arm, squeezing it gently. “I haven’t heard you sing in weeks.”

“I sing,” Kurt defended, “I sing at warblers practice.”

“That's not really singing, not like I mean,” Blaine said, sighing. “This isn't...it's not because we didn't give you the solo, is it? Because, you know, your voice is wonderful. We were just worried about how it would blend with everyone else and we thought it would be better for you to get used to the norm for the group before you sung alone. It wasn't anything personal.”

“I know,” Kurt mumbled, though he didn't. It certainly wasn't what he'd felt they meant at the time.

“Kurt, please just tell me what's wrong. We can sort it out...”

“There is nothing wrong,” Kurt insisted, pulling his arm back. “I'm just...I'm just trying to fit in.”

“And that's great,” Blaine said. His steady voice only annoyed Kurt who could feel his own anger building. “It's good to try and fit in but I...I king of miss the Kurt I first met...”

“You're the one who told me to tone myself down and fit in” Kurt said, his voice rising a little higher then he'd intended it to. Some of the other customers were giving them dirty looks now and he felt himself blush.

“Blaine, let's just go home...”

“Ok,” Blaine mumbled, blushing a little himself. He signalled the waitress and she was there in seconds, giving them a disproving look that made Kurt fidget in his seat as they paid.

Outside it was starting to snow. Kurt wrapped his arms around himself and felt all the anger drain out of him. He'd obviously done something wrong again. He'd tried to fit in, but that wasn't what Blaine wanted. He couldn't stand out too much, or blend in too much. And he hardly liked blending in, but he didn't want to embarrass or upset Blaine and he wanted to be accepted. This way, at least he wasn't an outcast.

Why wasn't it enough?

They didn't speak on the walk back to the school. They didn't kiss goodbye when they got thee and parted, and Kurt felt something inside himself tear. The same something that tore last time, but not as sever this time. He just, he couldn't do this right now.

He needed to hide.

He thought about the bathroom, or the history room cupboard, but...he just wanted to sleep. This room was the worst place for him to be mentally, the mess was a constant itch that he couldn't quite reach to scratch. Still, if he lay under his covers facing the wall with his eyes closed, he could at least sleep.

Maybe he'd fell a little less like another wrong word could rip the entire thing open and he'd be back where he was on that day he'd been torn open first, crying desperately in a toilet with nobody caring.

He could do this.

His room was empty of it's other occupant, and for a second he thought he was going to be lucky, until he saw his bed.

HIS bed. The only space that was truly his and only his in this entire place.

The sheets were skewed about, and there were...fluids...

Scott had been bragging about a way to sneak his girlfriend into the dorms just yesterday.

The smell...

Scott had brought a girl back here and had sex on Kurt's bed.

It took a second to sink in, and when it did something funny happened to his throat and he made a low noise. He felt...he felt oddly violated. It...it shouldn’t be that bad but this was his space. His only space,and even this wasn't something he could control.

He realised too late that the noise had turned into tears, and once he did he just gave up. He slumped, dropped to the floor and lent against the door, bringing his arm up to wrap around himself, like he could hold himself in.

This wasn't fair. He'd been doing ok, he'd been getting by. Yeah, so it wasn't perfect, but he'd managed to live without asking for much. All he really needed to be happy was a little space to himself and to have Blaine. And now, now he had nowhere for himself and Blaine was angry at him because he couldn't even understand what Blaine wanted him to be so he could try and be it.

He couldn't do this. He..it all just hurt to much.

His phone rang and he ignored it. He didn't know what to do...didn't even know where to start...he couldn't do this any more but he couldn't go home either, his Dad and Carole had given up so much to send him here and all it did was make him miserable. He'd been so sure he could be happy here. And, really, if he couldn't be happy here then where could he be happy?

He missed his favourite sweater.

“Kurt,” he almost jumped at the voice, then the banging on his door. Oh no, he could not do this now, no way. He just...

“Kurt, please,” Blaine said, pushing lightly against the door. “I know you're in there, just let me in.”

Kurt tried to reply, to say that he was fine and didn’t need Blaine, but the words got stuck in his throat, which was fir the best because, of course, he wasn't all right and he did need Blaine.

“Please, Kurt. I came up here too talk, I'm sorry if I upset you earlier...or did something else happen. Please just let me in.”

“Can't,” he mumbled, pressing back against the door, but something inside him was screaming “You can, you can!”

“You can,” Blaine said, and Kurt winced at the note of panic in it. “Please Kurt, please let me help. I...I want to help...”

And the part of Kurt's brain that wanted this to be his secret was promptly overridden by the part that wanted nothing more then to give in and curl up in Blaine's arms. Blaine wanted to help. He wouldn't have to work this horrible mess out alone, not this time. Someone WANTED to help.

Blaine opened the door, looked at him sprawled there on the floor, then knelt down slowly as though he suddenly wasn't sure what to do. Kurt knew just what he wanted, he needed someone else to help hold him together for now, so he reached out and Blaine responded, leaning forward and gathering Kurt into his arms, pulling him across his lap and holding him to his chest.

For a while Kurt just lost himself. He stopped thinking about how he was or wasn't going to deal with this and just lay there with his head on Blaine's chest and let himself cry. Let Blaine take care of it for now.

When the crying finally stopped they didn't speak. Blaine pulled him up and kissed him softly then lead him to Blaine's room (a single, one of the perks of being on the student council) and put him in bed. Kurt didn't need to be encouraged, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

~*~*~*~

It seemed almost surreal that he had to get up the next morning and go to classes. Blaine had pointed out that if he went to the nurse he could probably get out of it, had even made a vague attempt to convince him just to stay in bed, but he got up anyway.

Not that he learnt anything. Blaine's parting comment had been that they'd talk that night. He wasn't sure he could without breaking again, but he knew it had gone too far for him to back down now.

He still felt fragile, wounded. The ritual of going to class helped him hold it together though, and he was glad for that. He couldn't just spend the day locked in Blaine's room crying in his bed.

Blaine did, however, pick him up from his last lesson and walk him up to his room before fetching them both horrible fatty food. Kurt would have refused to even have it near him if it wasn't for the beautiful, hopeful look on Blaine's face.

“So,” Blaine asked after Kurt had managed at least half a slice of pizza. “Are you going to tell me what's wrong?”

“I'll probably start crying again if I do,” Kurt mumbled, focusing on the pizza in his hand. It really was delicious, even if he was going to have to puke it back up later when Blaine wasn't looking.

“I don't mind,” Blaine said, and moved to sit on the bed, sliding an arm around his shoulder. “Kurt, please don't do this again.”

“I don't mean to,” he mumbled, turning the pizza slice over and over in his hand. “Really. It's just...I kind of...I don't want you to hate me.”

“I won't, Kurt. Please just tell me what's wrong.”

“Everything,” Kurt finally replied with a sigh, putting his pizza down and turning to face Blaine. “Just, everything. I don't even know where to start. I don't fit in here, Blaine. I can't be myself here and it's killing me. I mean, it's not you, you're perfect, but I can't be me with anyone else. And it's so hard.”

“It's ok,” Blaine mumbled, reaching up to gently rub his cheek. “I guess...I guess I didn't think of asking you to tone down as asking you to stop being you. I'm sorry, Kurt.”

Kurt didn't reply, just let Blaine pull him into a fierce hug. It felt, nice. Reassuring.

“That...that doesn't explain everything though. I mean, Kurt, you don't eat.”

“I know,” Kurt mumbled. “It's just...it's about controlling things. I can't...I'm not in control of anything right now. I'm not in control of my life, I'm not in control of the space around me, I'm not in control of who I'm friends with or how I spend my time or anything. I can't cope. I need to be able to control things, to take care of them. And...food is something I can control...”

“Kurt, you know that's not healthy.”

“I know,” he replied with a sigh, turning to let his head rest on Blaine's shoulder. “It's just...I want to feel like there's one thing, just one thing, that I can cope with in my life.”

For a while then they were quiet. Kurt let it sit. He'd hoped it would feel good to say it, but it was hard. Even saying as much as he had hurt, and there were so many things he hadn't said. So many things he needed to say.

“Kurt,” Blaine said eventually. “The crying last night...has it been that bad before?”

“It...yeah...” Kurt mumbled. Just stopping himself from admitting it was always that bad underneath but he normally covered it better. “I mean, it started just after sectionals...I...I lost it a little bit, for a while.”

“Oh Kurt, why didn't you say,” Blaine breathed in his ear and he shuddered. The tears were near again, but he knew he had to finish this.

“I tried,” Kurt mumbled. “I texted you for painkillers and you were busy.”

“Kurt, because I'm busy sometimes doesn't mean I won't drop things if you let me know you really need me,” he mumbled, kissing Kurt's head softly. “I mean, I knew you were getting quiet but I didn't know it was doing this. Kurt, have you talked to anyone about this?”

“Who would I talk to?” Kurt asked, shrugging. “I'm ok, I've coped.”

“You shouldn't have to cope,” Blaine whispered, and Kurt felt bad for making him hurt like this. “Please talk to me now Kurt, tell me what it was like...”

“You don't need to know...”

“But I want to,” Blaine said calmly, squeezing Kurt tighter. “I want...I want to make it better and I know I can't but it might help you to talk and then we can work out how we can fix it. Please, Kurt. Please talk to me.”

“I don't know that it'll help,” Kurt muttered, biting back on the tears. “It'll probably just make my cry, Blaine. You don't need to see that.”

“Please,” Blaine mumbled into his hair, and the tears came again.

“It feels,” he said quickly, rushing to get it out before the tears really start. “It feels like I don’t know who I am, or who I should be, or who I want to be. It feels like I can't control everything. It...it hurts, Blaine. It feels like someone stuck a knife in me and split me open and I've been trying my best to heal it but every little think is like someone poking at the wound and sometimes it just splits again and I want to but I just can't stop crying.”

“Kurt,” Blaine mumbled, and Kurt could hear the tears in his voice. “I...don't worry now. We're going to make this ok.”

“I know,” Kurt mumbled, clutching him more tightly. “Thank you, I do love you.”

~*~*~*~

His first day back at McKinley was oddly anti-climatic. Nobody seemed to notice other then the other Glee kids. Rachel and Mercedes had both hugged him and he'd spent his first Glee practice back sat between the two of them.

When he and Blaine had done crying that night they'd gone to the nurse and Blaine had told her what was happening. She'd phoned his dad straight away and from there it had been a blur. He was packed up and whisked away and taken to a doctor and a counsellor who he left with a prescription for anti-depressants and fortnightly appointments to talk about his 'anxieties'. His dad had cried, which had hurt more then anything, but Carole had been a wonder, just getting them all through it with hugs and kind words.

There had been Blaine of course, too. He phoned every night regularly. He always asked his Kurt was doing, always had something good to say, and always apologised for not realising something was wrong sooner, no matter how often Kurt told him it wasn't his fault.

It wasn't like they fixed him or anything, but it was kind of like they gave him some sutures, or a big bandage. There was something else holding him in now then just the twine he'd made from his own fears.

He'd been back at McKinley two weeks when he walked into the choir room and found Blaine, dressed in skin-tight jeans and a t-shirt that were definitive not the Dalton uniform, leaning against the piano like he belonged there.

“Hey,” he said shyly, looking at Kurt from under messy, ungelled hair. It was so...so strange. Kurt just wanted to reach over and run his fingers through it.

“Hey,” he managed finally, stepping closer. “What are you...I mean...”

“I've been thinking...about what you said about not being able to be yourself at Dalton about about...well...about carrying on at Dalton and I transferred. Surprise.”

Kurt gaped. Blaine had transferred here? No, no way. Things like that didn't happen, did they? Why would be...he'd fit in at Dalton.

“But, you were ok there...”

“I could blend,” Blaine acknowledged, nodding slightly, “But I'm not sure I could be me, and I guess I want to try. It is ok, isn't it? For me to be here?”

“More then ok,” Kurt said, his voice a little tight, then he stepped forward and into his boyfriend's arms.

It didn't heal him, but it helped.


End file.
